


Everybody Knows (The Rotten Deal Remix)

by Balder12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel True Forms, Episode Tag, Episode: s09e02 Devil May Care, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/pseuds/Balder12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three people who might have known Sam had a little extra baggage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Knows (The Rotten Deal Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kisahawklin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Should've Known](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024011) by [kisahawklin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin). 



> This is a remix of [Should've Known](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024011). I originally intended to post this for Remix Madness, but real life got in the way. Fortunately Kisahawklin has an open remix policy, so I went ahead and finished it up. The title is from the Leonard Cohen song, "Everybody Knows."

**1\. Crowley**

Crowley can smell the stink of grace even with the bag over his head.  When it’s pulled off he expects to see Castiel—he should have killed the blighter when he had the chance —but instead he finds an angel _in flagrante delicto_ with Sam Winchester’s meat suit.   He can see it plain as day, twisted around Sam’s heart in pretty golden coils, and Crowley will be even more damned that he already is if he doesn’t recognize the bastard.  He feels a pang of jealousy, the aftertaste of humanity still sour in his throat.  If anyone is going to play ‘hide the ectoplasm’ with Sam it should be him.  They had a moment.

Dean punches Crowley in the face.  It’s entirely painless.  Refreshing, actually.  The demonic equivalent of a hot cup of coffee.  He wonders if Dean’s noticed he has a new friend hanging out in his double-secret clubhouse.

Crowley makes a show of looking around the dungeon.  “Homey. Where did you get this fantastic little treehouse?”  He has an inkling of where he _might_ be, but he can’t believe he’s that lucky.  Abaddon’s been trying to break into the bunker of the Men of Letters for decades.  Have the Winchesters really just given him a first class ticket?  How delightfully stupid.

“All right, here's how it's gonna go,” says Scaly Mc-Six Wings.  “You're giving us the name of every demon on earth, and the people they're possessing.”  Crowley can’t tell if it’s pretending to be Sam, or if it’s genuinely letting the original title holder drive the meat-mobile.  Either way, Dean nods along like nothing’s wrong. 

Crowley considers pointing out they’ve got company, but he figures that won’t get him anything but smote.  He uses the uppermost layer of his consciousness to banter with the halfwits, and uses the rest to direct a thought to their uninvited guest.

_I hear Eden is lovely this time of year._

The Sam-face doesn’t flinch, but the wings flutter in dismay.  _I can kill you with a thought._

_And I can out you with a word.  Seems like we’ve got ourselves a stalemate.  I’m always open to interesting offers._

_I don’t make deals with demons_.  Dean and the Sam-suit turn to walk out.  Crowley opens his mouth slowly.  He knows a thing or two about dramatic flare.

_What do you want?_ it says.  There are so many possible answers.  Out of the dog collar and into the library; that goes without saying.  But there are other things.  Sam, for one.  The giddy intoxication of his blood, the slippery insides of his flesh, the unexcavated mysteries of his mind. 

And then there’s Kevin.  Crowley smelled the boy as he was dragged in, the sticky-sweet tang of fear-sweat and inarticulate rage that clings to his skin.  Kevin was the cutest little pet Crowley’s had in ages:  so hilarious when he’s angry, so pretty when he cries.  So much potential for fun.

_Come see me without the third wheel next time and we’ll have ourselves a chat._

The door of the dungeon slams shut.  Crowley smiles in the dark.

**2\.  Kevin**

There are a hundred lidless eyes embedded in the skeletal remnants of the angel’s wings, and every one of them is staring at Kevin across the library table.  The angel in Sam’s chest is coiled in on itself in an intricate series of interlocking wheels.  Every now and then it stretches one tattered wing lazily, or shifts a wheel into a new position, its bronzy scales clicking.  It’s like watching the casual adjustments of a sleepy cat.

“You okay?”  Sam says. 

Kevin realizes he’s been staring at Sam’s chest in fascinated horror for an entirely inappropriate length of time.  He’s supposed to act normal.  Dean said so.  “If Sam gets wind of this and kicks Zeke out, he'll die."   So Kevin tries to ignore his prophet-vision.  He really does.  But the angel’s presence looms over Sam like a gargoyle, and Kevin can’t quite stick to his good intentions.  He makes flimsy excuses to flee whenever Sam shows up. 

Kevin tears his eyes from Sam’s chest, and looks down at the table instead.  “Yeah, I’m just . . .” he casts around for anything that will let him escape, “ . . . tired.  I should go to bed.”

He’s halfway down the hall when a massive hand grabs him by the arm.  He turns to find the angel directly in front of him—a glossy, hyperreal nightmare inches from his face.   He stumbles back reflexively and Sam lets him go.

“Can we please talk about this?” Sam says.  “I get why you’re mad at me, and you’ve got the right to be.  But we’ve got to learn to live together.  What do I need to do to start making this right?”

Kevin stares blankly for several seconds before he works out Sam thinks he’s angry about the failed plan to close Hell, or possibly Sam leaving him for dead.  Kevin hasn’t spared a thought to either incident in weeks.  He’s been too busy dealing with an interdimensional eyeball monster to worry about the subtleties of his interpersonal relationships.

For the first time since Sam walked into the bunker possessed, Kevin meets the eyes of the man instead of the angel.  Sam looks heartbreakingly troubled by a history Kevin doesn’t even have the energy to remember.  Surely he has right to know what’s been done to him.  There must be a way to break the news that won’t cause him to panic and cast the angel out.

“Look, I’m not mad,” Kevin says.  “It’s complicated.  There’s something I need to tell you.”

Before Kevin finds the words to explain, the angel shifts, its wheels spinning until they blur.  The scales make a rapid click-click-click as they strike against each other.  It’s a warning sound, like a snake’s rattle. 

Kevin looks between the angel and the man.  He decides.  “Don’t sweat what happened.  Honestly, I wouldn’t have taken your call either.   Maybe that sucks, but it’s just the way it is.”

Kevin backs away down the hall, his eyes on the now-silent angel.  Sam watches him go, looking hurt and puzzled, and Kevin feels a pang of regret.  But Sam’s going to have to handle this one on his own.  Kevin’s taking care of Kevin.  Someone should.

**3\.  Castiel**

“I'm glad Sam accepted Ezekiel,” Castiel says.  “But the time has come to tell him what you’ve done.”   Angel and vessel alike are safely out of earshot, buried somewhere in the bowels of the bunker.  Dean is staring into his beer like it’s an oracular font.

Castiel’s fall severed his connection to his true form—his many limbs are numb and forgotten, and his unblinking eyes are sealed shut.  His human vision can’t find his brother’s face behind the curtain of Sam’s skin, but it’s there.  He suspected it when he was conveniently resurrected; he knew it when Dean asked him to leave the bunker.  Dean barely bothered to protest his innocence when Castiel asked him.  Mostly he looked grateful he didn’t have to explain himself.

Dean lifts his beer, but doesn’t drink it. “If Sam kicks him out –“

“He dies. I understand, Dean.  I don’t believe that will happen.”  Dean says nothing.  He hasn’t looked Castiel in the eye since he sat down. 

 “I could talk to Ezekiel,” Castiel goes on.  “I believe he’d listen to me.  This situation isn’t sustainable.”  Dean is afraid of Ezekiel.  Ezekiel is afraid of the world outside the bunker.  Castiel is afraid of being left alone with the suffering and need of a body that’s not his own.  Sooner or later their fears will drive them all to disaster.     

Dean shakes his head.   "I just don't want Sam to have to make that choice – not yet." 

“You don’t trust Ezekiel,” Castiel says, but what he means is, ‘You don’t trust _me_.’  He feels small without the familiar weight of his wings behind him.  The loss of his grace has left him weak and useless:  unable to heal Sam, unable to save Dean from the traps he builds himself.

Dean looks up, though he still doesn’t meet Castiel’s gaze.  “I’m sorry, man.  I really am.  It’s just for a little while, and then I’ll bring you right home.  If there were any other way . . .”

Castiel nods.  He feels ashamed he ever asked Dean and Sam to take him in.   He’s old and, in his current condition, doomed to die all too soon, no matter what they do.  Ezekiel cares only for his own well-being, but he’s right that Castiel shouldn’t bring danger to the one safe place these boys have found.      

Had Dean insisted he stay, Castiel would still leave rather than put Sam in danger.  And yet it hurts that Dean wants him to go.   Castiel broke their relationship irreparably when he broke Sam’s wall, and however much Dean wants to pretend it didn’t happen, no measure of penance or apology will make them what they were.  A shattered vase may be glued back together and returned to the mantle where it stood, but the water will always bleed out through the cracks.  It fills the same space, but its worth is gone.    

He pushes away the burrito that had been a tiny but profound source of pleasure a few moments earlier.  He doesn’t want it now.  Human appetites are so fickle. 

He turns when he reaches the door.  “Be careful,” he says.  It’s the last help he can offer before he leaves Dean alone on this path.  "Sam may be getting stronger, but so is Ezekiel."

 


End file.
